Sedimentation
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: The world was once a communal place; now that's gone. All they have left is survival - survival of the fittest and the smartest, for a life that has no meaning but. The larvitar and zubat rely on each other to survive, but the zubat bring with them tales from the wind a certain larvitar can't help but wonder about...even if they've long since been buried under snow and stone.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Written for the random! AU competition on the Pokemon Fanfiction Challenges Forum. My random AU was dystopian…and this is popped out from my muse. :D

Explanatory notes are at the end. Feel free to skip them if you wish. Or if you're confused about something (like the Mt Silver layout), it might be explained there.

One thing you will need to know: if I say a pokemon name in lower case, it's the species in general. If it's upper case, it's a particular member of that species. Unless it's at the start of the sentence; those ones are inferable. I think. :D

* * *

**Sedimentation  
Chapter 1**

The frost had sunk its great big teeth into his rocky hide, leaving jagged cracks that had whitened and crumbled at their edges. Larvitar remembered how the healing had felt the year before: how bitterly his thick skin had hurt as the unfitting ends grated against each other, refusing to join; how agonising it had been to cut back into those old scars to remove the useless rock; and how painstaking to crawl cautiously in the dark caves and rely on the zubat to feed.

In a sense, they were fortunate that the zubat were their friendly neighbours, as a species hibernating through the cold seasons and preserving their lukewarm flesh, and foraging for supplies as soon as the wind turned warm. Most larvitar by then were unable to move past their resting cave, limbs locked with pain and grinding rock as they were forced to chip further away at their own hides in order to heal.

But if the larvitar slept the colder months away, they would be nothing but a brittle shell incapable of a single breath when they awoke. It was something they could not afford; something no species that still existed on the planet could afford, but the rarer ones like the larvitar the least. The zubat could, but constantly surrounded by beasts of rock, they knew more self-preservation than that. And the few larvitar that lived were more than happy to trade protection during the coldest months for food and water in the tender ones that followed.

It did not suit the zubat to double-cross them, nor did it suit the larvitar, and over the long years of living in such symbiosis, the two species might have even become friends.

It was a word Larvitar could barely articulate; it was one he, nor they as a collective, barely said or heard. It was rarely said or heard in their god-forsaken world, and even less understood. It was a word that belonged in the old world, the world where humans and pokemon had, for a time, lived in peace. When their mountain hadn't been the cutthroat place it now was, but a place of beauty and liveliness, where the sounds that danced weren't battle-cries or shrieks of pain but rather chitters of excitement and happiness and, even, human voices.

Larvitar had never heard a human voice. The only humans he'd seen were dead ones – parts of dead ones, when the zubat brought back rubbery skin and flesh that had gone black and blue and red to feast upon, or whole ones when the larvitar tried to crack the earth open to reap the rewards beneath the eternal snow. And even that was rare: a delicacy as opposed to the usual carcasses they found in the snow: of pidgey who'd fallen from the sky, or rattata who'd tried to tunnel underground and failed, or tangelo who'd tried to find some green in their frozen world. There would even be the occasional geodude that eventually crumbled in the cold and turned the snow grey.

Their mountain was unforgiving in the cold months now, and those cold months were long. The zubat had heard stories of far-off lands bathed with constant fire, but it was cold that bathed them here: frost that meant the zubat could not reproduce nor nurture their young except in the sparse hotpsrings not occupied with quagsire or poliwhirl, the former who would swallow a zubat whole if they came too close, and the later whose reign of fists obliterated anything in their way, friend or foe.

Few of the springs still had magikarp, and the stream had all but dried up their supply as well. Perhaps they still lived in the larger oceans; they didn't know. They were too far away, disconnected with that part of the world.

They simply lived in their own little niches in the mountain, waiting out the cold months however they could, scratching both flesh and mountain rock when golduck got too close, or chipping away at the shells of now-dead geodude so they could use the hollow for additional warmth. If it was a graveler, the one pupitar amongst them would do the deed, because no matter how strong they became, they had a limit.

Once, there had existed a way to exceed that limit, but no more. There were no more tyranitar, just like there were no golem or tangrowth or pidgeot or onix. Natural selection had weeded them out, just as it would have weeded out the quagsire if they didn't have an innate defence against most attackers and a hot spring and superior tunnelling ability in the soft underwater dirt within which to shield themselves from the cold. And the poliwhirl, if their fighting abilities hadn't overtaken their once-communal minds, putting individual survival over all else. And the zubat and larvitar, if they hadn't called a truce to keep both clans alive.

But their truce went beyond survival, because the zubat's superior hearing allowed them to hear the stories carried in the wind. It was how Larvitar knew of the existence of human beings as something different to pokemon, which was itself an umbrella term that encompassed the larvitar species as well as the zubat and all other species as well. It was, on a more primitive level, how he knew the _names_ of those species, and what species were.

The zubat thought all the information that had ever existed in the world was somewhere in the wind. They were a fanciful lot, eager to keep the old, perhaps not even existing, tales alive. It was something that gave meaning, they thought. That passed the time. The larvitar had come to agree with them, though they were weary of straying from the well worn path between food and their safe haven.

The zubat, in the months following their hibernation, were wary too. The cold still clung to them, and often they lost a few to the cold blanket of impure snow as their wings froze and failed. But it was a fragile time, and a necessity, because by then the hides of the larvitar had cracked and their bodies had locked up in pain. The zubat had no choice but to forage for food and take their turn keeping unwanted visitors from bay, or they would be easy prey once the wall of larvitar crumbled away.

It was a pointless life: a pointless world where one's only goal was to keep on surviving. But no larvitar asked why; the pain they felt in the cold months was enough to make them want to struggle on, no matter how pointless it seemed. Because if the cold did such things – and the cold could do no more than incapacitate the larvitar. Their hides were too thick.

They knew that anything that could penetrate them, like a poliwrath's wild fists, would be even worse. Especially in their brittle states, where even the gentle sonar of the zubat passing information to each other hurt.

Larvitar appreciated the stories even more in these times; it took his mind off the pain, to something new and different: to dreams that would never be fulfilled, because he valued his flimsy life too much. But he could still imagine: imagine an orange beast with a whip-like tail and strong fangs fly up into the sky, or a snake made of rock that was almost steel sliding effortlessly through the earth. Imagine himself growing and changing in shape and ability, finally towering over the mountain he now cowered in, trembling and hearing the clacking of hide plates grate against each other.

It happened every year, but it wasn't until the zubat's sharp cry and the taste of meat on his tongue that he could relax and ignore it. The slight bitterness stung his cracked tongue a moment, but his lethargic chewing of the rubbery flesh soon rubbed it away. It didn't rub away the pain though: the still cold air that stung deep wounds that darkened old years' scars.

It might have hurt their pride as well, if they hadn't been so few and so vulnerable in the months of the waning cold. Instead, they were grateful they would not experience the pain of their stomachs dissolving from anger, no doubt even more agonising than the deep cracks that ran through their plate, carved out by their own metal claws.

* * *

**Post A/N:** You might notice I've rearranged the Mt Silver interior to fit into the individual species niche idea. The poliwhirl probably cover the most space, being so spaced out. Quagsire are closer to the ground levels and the inner area, because they burrow under the hot springs. The larvitar and zubat shared space is closer to the entrance because of how frequently they forage for food, and close to the ground level for another reason. The sneasel, which haven't yet been mentioned, are far deeper in.

The larvitar have a little bit of steel in their claws naturally; this is to allow for the metal claw attack. Not canon; just something I added in.

Type advantages/disadvantages have changed a little as well. The larvitar were (almost?) exclusively centred in the mountains in the game. Zubat are always in caves (though the only reason they aren't extinct from Mt Silver is because of the symbiotic relationship with larvitar, otherwise they'd freeze in winter or be pillaged by the other pokemon, and be gone). They both have weaknesses to the cold, but they also have experience living in it. Quagsire isn't usually in caves, and when they are, they're in the water. They don't have a weakness to cold, but they still stick to the hotsprings and the soft earth beneath it. The poliwhirl are a little different; they're one-pokemon army as opposed to species-dependent like the others. This is a disadvantage but also an advantage; poliwhirl's fighting abilities gives it an advantage to most pokemon in the area, and the zubat are too small to do much to a beefy poliwhirl.

Do the larvitar fight to protect both parties? Yes, they do. Why can the zubat protect them when they're no longer able to move when they're not really the fighting type? Because there isn't much to fight against; most pokemon in the immediate vicinity have rock or ground qualities and would be facing the same problems with the cold (think of it as really really really bad frostbite). So all that's really left are the golducks, who tend to fight individual poliwhirl for territory more since they're water types, but are also easily frightened by astonish because of its partial psychic abilities. So the zubat's protection is more to feel safe than to be safe. And there are so few larvitar that species pride is no longer a factor of survival.

Another tidbit: the poison in zubat fangs kills potential toxins that are sleeping in the meat, since toxins don't grow or die very well in extreme cold. They sort of stay refrigerated, like the meat itself. Larvitar stomachs are well adapted to the poison though, so they can eat it no problem.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Nothing earth-shattering (aka. Needing explanations) revealed in this chapter I think. If you have any questions, feel free to put them in a review and I'll try and answer them.

* * *

**Sedimentation  
Chapter 2**

'How is it you don't feel the cold?' the larvitar wondered of his zubat friend, the one that always came to him for food. The zubat was a constant visitor to his little niche, where the frost was hard-pressed to dig its razor sharp teeth into him. But the cold still manages. The cracks in his hide grow more and deeper by the day. Deeper than the last winter too. Some of the other larvitar have wondered if this means the winter is worse as well.

'We do feel the cold,' the zubat replied. 'If we stop flying, our tiny flesh bodies freeze and we fall, to be buried in the snow outside and forgotten. Or we fall in the darkness here like a bit of ice that's come loose. Or into the freezing water to be fished out and eaten with the algae.'

The larvitar considered that. 'That's a depressing thought,' he remarked. 'Is that all there is to life? Keep on moving until you die?'

He looked at himself: the curled form that lay awake in the dark caves, listening to the wings of the zubat as they came and left: their only connection to the howling wind and storms of ice and rain outside. He'd barely moved from his little space since the winter had set in. Last year, he'd been young enough to still fit into his mother's pouch. This year he wasn't. This year his mother sat in another space of the cave, far away.

'Does that mean I'm going to die?' the larvitar asked, his voice dry and scratchy in a throat that longed for the warmth of summer again. But summer was a cruel month as well. It dried up all the water outside, leaving only the pools in the inner caves to soothe their thirst. And the water pokemon were ferocious, defending that might. Sometimes they would goad them into attacking with their water guns and hydro pumps, just so they could collect the scraps of water that remained from them.

Sometimes, it cost them a few of their own to do it. The zubat were too small to hold their ground against such highly pressurised attacks, so the larvitar had to. Or the stones they could milk of the cavern walls and ground and build in front of them as a shield. The zubat were the snipers instead, the ones undercover that used their sonar waves in the midst of the battle to confuse the enemy, and then sneak past to steal a bit of that precious commodity every creature needed in order to survive.

But the larvitar were active then. Not like the winter where their joints locked up in the cold and they stayed in their caves, hunched and dependent entirely on the zubat. Not moving, slowly dying in the cold…

'Some do die.' The zubat looked sad. 'Usually the young ones, or the old ones.'

The larvitar tilted his head, wincing internally at the grating sound of stone against stone and the pain that shot through his skull. 'I'm young, aren't I?'

The zubat hummed a little to herself, a quiet sonic the larvitar could not fully hear, let alone understand. 'Young enough,' she said eventually. 'But not everyone dies.'

'I don't want to die,' the larvitar admitted. 'I've barely seen the world.'

'There's not much to see,' the zubat said sadly. 'In zubat terms, I'm quite old. The age lots of zubat can't fly in this cold anymore and fall from the sky.'

'So we both might die this year,' the larvitar surmised. 'But…I want to see the world still. Even if there's nothing there. At least I'll have seen it then.'

'There isn't much to see,' the zubat repeated. 'And it's painful for you to move, isn't it?'

'Is it painful for you to fly?' the larvitar asked.

'Me?' The zubat was a little surprised at the question. Her wings flapped quickly, producing a sound the other zubat could hear, and note. 'No, they don't.'

They hurt when she woke up after having not used them all night long, but once she'd gotten them into a rhythm they didn't hurt unless injured or burnt.

'Can I fly?' the larvitar asked.

'I have never seen anyone from your family fly,' the zubat replied. 'And not even the crobat, if there were any, could carry you. I've been told they're not much bigger than the golbat'

'I've never seen a crobat,' larvitar said. 'Are they in the higher levels of the cave?'

'Not that I know.' The zubat shook her head. 'I have never seen a crobat either. And very few golbat.'

'I don't think I've seen one of those either.'

The zubat rose a little. 'They live in the higher levels,' she confessed. 'Some of them gain pride when they evolve to that point, thinking they can survive on their own.'

Evolution was such a rare thing in their world that perhaps that pride was well founded.

'Are you still in pain?' the zubat asked, flying closer.

'No,' the larvitar said. He wished he could shake his head, but it would probably hurt then. 'The food has made it go away.' The food the zubat had brought for him, that he'd devoured and let digest as they'd talked. 'But it'll come back. I don't want to wait for it.'

'Don't you want to see spring again?' the zubat asked.

'Spring when the ursaring roar and scratch in the tunnels?' Larvitar shivered at the memory. He remembered that: his one and only spring. He'd been too young to go outside: his stone hide still too soft. But those echoes had been even more frightening than the needles of pain that shot through his body in the winter and the recovery thereafter.

'You were too young to go out,' the zubat surmised. 'The world looks a little more beautiful at the end of spring. Some years, flowers grow. But they haven't grown for a while now.'

'Flowers…' The larvitar had only heard of those through stories.

'Maybe they still grow at the top of the mountain,' the zubat mused. 'High up where the sun can coax it out without it being crushed by the wild pokemon who wake and need their sustenance.'

'Can we go there?' the larvitar asked.

'Hush, little one,' was the zubat's reply. 'It gets colder the higher we go.'

'But if we keep moving, we'll be fine, right?' The larvitar forces its eyes open. Cells of stone slide atop one another. 'We can get there.'

The zubat was fairly sure she could, in the deep winter when most of her predators were asleep or confined to the waters, but she didn't think the larvitar would be able to. He would be too slow, too stiff. And that was assuming she could be able to cater for his food and drink.

But the larvitar's eyes were like the eyes of another larvitar, a few years back. Another larvitar who hadn't wanted to lie curled and wait for his fate. A larvitar who, likewise, had wanted to see a little more of the world before he died. He wasn't content with just the stories the zubat carried, from generation to generation of little bat pokemon who covered behind the strong larvitar in the summer time and became their feeders in the winter.

'We can try,' she said, finally. 'But it will be a difficult journey.'

In truth, she wouldn't mind dying up there, at the top of the mountain. When she'd been in her youth, it had seemed like the best place to die. The place where the sun was just caressing the tips of snow-covered tops – even in the deep winter that left the rest of the world blind to the sun.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** A bit of explanation at the end.

* * *

**Sedimentation  
Chapter 3**

The zubat flew out of the cave after the larvitar she had been talking to had drifted off. Her own stomach growled, begging her for food. And she still had a long hunt ahead of her, if she did intend to travel to the top of the mountain.

But it was an idea that was growing in her mind with each beat of her wings. She _liked_ it. It was better than doing the same thing over and over. Better than following the same routine until she died. In a world where there was nothing to accomplish besides survival, she wanted to accomplish something. A little journey that would mean nothing in the end…but she knew she was getting old. Too old now to evolve and survive the process. Too old perhaps to fly in another winter. Her wings were frailer than others of her kind now. They weren't quite strong enough to hold her in the hailing winds, so she had to wait for them. That was why she fed the littlest larvitar. Because it was too difficult to get enough meat for the bigger ones. That task was left to the stronger, younger ones.

But now she had another reason for needing more meat, and she would have to face the full ferocity of the outside winter in order to gain it. She would need to beat the hail that would pound on her wings, the strong gales that would try and toss her out of the air and whatever wakeful eyes that were likewise scavenging for prey.

There were even the rare abomasnow fighting each other for the more appetizing flesh of their own kind – but the zubat were not brutal fighters. If one of their kind fell from the sky and froze, they would strip the brittle bones of their flesh as an act of need and honour and respect. It was better to be taken by another zubat than be ripped apart by any of the other savage pokemon. But they did not kill each other for that meat. They took whatever could be found – and there was always some sort of meat to be found. Because all pokemon required sustenance. All pokemon needed to eat to keep on hanging on to life. Eventually those who did not have others to bring food to them would have to come out into the cold spread of winter to seek their food – and nature would snatch away the weaker and more vulnerable of them.

Zubat had two things to protect them: their speed and the small size of their bodies, able to move quickly to keep themselves warm while evading the obstacles of the storms. They also had the larvitar in the cave. They could huddle between the barely moving curled forms and be warmer than their summer perches in the deeper caves, their wings beating minutely even in those silent moments to stop the cold from seizing their hearts.

Outside though, there was no such protection to relax within. And she was on the hunt for food: for meat she could carry back with her and tuck into the larvitar's still developing hide. It would take a good few trips to have enough for the journey they had planned, to be safe from the fate that would await them otherwise. But it also came down to what they could carry between them, and for that long period it would be next to nothing for her. The larvitar would have to carry it all.

She sped into the sleets of hail as quickly as she could, doing her best to evade the cold. Despite her small size, it was impossible to avoid the ice completely; that became the battle: staying in the air while searching for the dark fur of some stray rattata that had met its fate in the snow.

She spotted one and dove down, building pressure behind her wings so she could release them with a cutting force. It was a skill most zubat had not mastered, and it had taken her most of her life to grip it. But it was a useful one; it saved them many pains of carrying a frozen corpse otherwise. Cut into pieces, each of the zubat could take a part and carry it.

And when there was only one like then, she could use a weaker, more lasting breath of wind to carry them. It would be exhausting, especially against the hail, but at least she wouldn't risk losing her prey to any other pokemon lying in wait or battling the storms such as she.

She couldn't have mentioned it to her clan; they would have been angered at the wild ideas of that larvitar, and her humouring them. But she was old now; she doubted she would live through another winter, and in that one she will be old and frail, to be fed like these larvitar were currently being fed by her and her kind. She did not look forward to such an end; for her, like most zubat, to fly was to live. To be forced to lay, curled, in a cave for such a long period of time was beyond her mental strength; she'd rather fall from the sky and become the food of her brethren than surrender to that.

And to be able to fly inward, to the peak of the mountain where the sun touched – she wouldn't mind that, honestly. She would enjoy that. And for a larvitar she was sure would die as well – there was no need to conform to the ways of their clans if their clans strove for survival and they for some peace before death. Nothing would save them anyway; they might live longer, yes, but not long enough for anything to change in their world. And not all the old zubat slumbered their way to death, or fell from the sky. Some had taken that journey before. She wasn't sure how many took a companion with them though. She also wasn't sure how many made it to the peak.

With larvitar carrying enough food for the both of them and the ice they could break and devour, they stood a good chance of making it if luck followed them on their ordeal. If they were attacked too savagely, or pillaged, or one of them fell ill or was injured, they'd be delayed and the delay would cost them – but the what ifs didn't matter as much as they had the previous winter, or the one before. Maybe it was because now she could feel her death approaching: the old age that would soon start locking her bones and slowing her wing beats. Or maybe it was because the desire in that young larvitar's heart had awakened a fire within her as well.

She let that fire fuel her, gritting her teeth against the sleets of hail and flapping her wings, this time, against them. A small gust formed, and she struggled to maintain it. The hail was blowing the wrong way. But she managed; she had experience, and strength enough left for this. She had the winds carry her meat to the mouth of the cave before she fell atop it, on the ground.

As the odour started rising up, she opened her fangs and dribbled a little poison on top of the skin, killing the smell. She didn't want other cave dwellers to come after her. If they hadn't been at the cave mouth already it was unlikely they'd come so close to the mouth on a whim, and if the smell couldn't reach them, whim was the only reason they would have to approach.

She could rest in the mouth for a while, bear the cold wind that blew her way on occasion for the soft, near effortless vibrations of her winds in their unstruggling state. She could catch her breath and her energy before carrying her load again, back to those caves where the larvitar was waiting for her. That wouldn't take as much struggle. There were a plenitude of places to hide things once within the mountain. Places only the zubat knew. She could hide some of the meat there, and come back for it. That was not a problem.

Though it was a bitter thought to think she needn't have done so only a year or two ago. A rattata of that size had been easily carried by her gust back then.

* * *

**Post A/N:** Zubat are pacifists, so they find prey that's already dead and take that, including their own dead. The abomnasnow on the other hand are quite aggressive, so much so that they'll kill each other to have fresh meat. The larvitar won't kill other larvitar, but towards other species like the geodude, they are also quite aggressive. But there's not a whole lot to be gained by being aggressive to such small creatures like the zubat, and the hail/snow hides them quite well anyway. Their main enemy in the winter snow/hailstorms is the weather.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sedimentation  
Chapter 4**

The larvitar tried not to squirm as the zubat tucked shreds of meat into his hide. It was still underdeveloped and therefore not as spacious or firm as the hides of the older Larvitar, and coupled with the bite of winter, it was a painful experience.

But the larvitar knew it would help him twice over in the long run. The soft meat between blades of stone would stop them from rubbing together…and it would be their sustenance when those edible creatures became few and difficult to catch in the deeper parts of the mountain. So he tried not to complain – and not to make too much sound, lest one of the elders turned towards him.

Nobody was paying them any mind for the time being. They were all busy being fed. The zubat were busy doing the feeding. The larvitar himself was chewing slowly on a strip of meat, tasting the light tang of poison that was still fresh within it. The zubat, he assumed, had already fed before coming to him.

He offered her some anyway.

'I already ate,' the zubat said, shaking her head as her claws gently scratched the larvitar's frail hide. She was being as careful as she could, just like, years ago, when she'd done the same with another larvitar just like this one, but it was difficult. Even though she was small and her claws thin and blunt compared to the younger, fitter zubat, the larvitar's underdeveloped hide was still more sensitive. 'There, all done.'

The larvitar shifted a little and winced with pain. Still, he could feel the buffering effect of the meat, feel the absence of that constant stone grinding against stone.

'You'll get used to it,' the zubat offered. 'But once the food starts getting to old or running now…'

'I'll be used to moving by then,' the larvitar finished. _I hope…_ Because he felt slow, lethargic, as he got to his feet. The outer plates still clicked against each other and gave him shooting pains, but it was tolerable now, and he'd always moved a little even in the most unbearable times. He was too young to keep completely still; he just couldn't do it. Nor did he want to do it. He'd moved around, wandered the caves nearest to them, until he couldn't walk any more and the zubat had had to carry him back. And then he'd surrendered to the winter.

But now there was an opportunity to leave, to move around again.

'I've put a little more of my poison in the meat than usual,' the zubat continued to explain. 'It will numb the pain.'

It wasn't usually an advantage to survival, but to move when pain froze one it was. There was no real ice near them; only what the zubat carried with their gust. The rock pokemon lived in the driest parts of the caves because they could not risk being encased in prisons of ice. They would be dead long before they could move again otherwise.

'I can stand,' the larvitar said, and the zubat withdrew a little.

'Okay,' she agreed, looking at him from a bit of a distance. It was easier when she could see his entire frame to detect any shaking, or need for support. The larvitar held on to the cave wall – but that was okay. There would be no shortage of cave walls to hold on to. Only when they got to the more moist areas, they would be slippery with ice. But the floor would be slippery with ice as well. And the ceiling. And they would be surrounded by cold.

But beyond that was the sun. The sun she so wanted to see again. And she was sure the larvitar wanted it as well, beneath the want to move around, the thirst for an adventure…

'I'm ready.' The larvitar took a few steps towards her.

She hesitated. 'Aren't you going to say goodbye?' She wondered if she was right after all, taking a youngling away from his clan like this, even if it was what they wanted. But the other larvitar were silent: their eyes closed and only their mouths moving, slowly chewing their feed. By the time they realised the absence they would be long gone. And the other zubat…they would be quicker to see her absence but they were no stranger to sudden absences too.

'They'll tell me to stay if I do.' His voice was sad, and he knew the words he spoke were the truth. The other larvitar would tell him to stay. They would tell him to go on with life like they'd always done, but that would never soothe that restless spirit of his. They would want him to stay and survive this winter only to die later on, a stone collapsed in on itself or blasted apart by highly pressured water or bitten through by a steelix's strong jaws. But he didn't want that sort of life: to be shut in a world only to wait for death. 'I don't want to stay here and wait for death.'

'You are too young to think of death,' the zubat thought aloud, but in a world such as the one they lived in, it didn't matter at all. 'Then let us leave. Now or later, it doesn't really matter save the time that slips through out fingers.'

She flew ahead: smaller, faster and less restricted than the young larvitar that carefully moves, step by step, a hand on the wall all the while. There is no point in her staying too close; if he fell, she could not support him except with her gust, and that worked better from far away. But he did not fall. He walked carefully: small unhurried steps that would have made her impatient if she were a younger kind – but she was not. She was old and weary, and there was no such thing as the energy of the youth in the winter days.

She hovered at the entrance to the spacious and yet filled up cave and the larvitar met her there: slow, but getting steadier. She hoped he would get steadier and faster soon. It would be a safe passage for a while, but not forever. Deeper in the mountains were beasts that did not slumber with the winter. Some were beasts that moved free, unhindered by the biting cold that penetrated so deep. Beasts that would rip their hides before their poor eyes could make out the shadows of movement and life.

But that at least was a painless way to die, and it was a death they wouldn't have to wait, unmoving, for.


	5. Chapter 5

**Sedimentation  
Chapter 5**

Larvitar did get faster. Too slow for the zubat, but her long life had taught her patience and restraint. It was perhaps a good thing as well: their slow progress. Zubat were on the move constantly, except while they slept. And they slept several times in the cycle of a day. The larvitar might be slower as a species, but they could stay awake for several cycles. So the zubat could find a perch on her companion's shoulder or, when the first strips of meat had been devoured between the two of them and the space at the base of the neck opened up, slip her wings into the gap and sleep.

When she woke, the larvitar was still lumbering slowly forward.

And the first few days passed like that – or what they assumed were days. The source of light within the mountain was unknown to even her. It was a dull orange light, unlike the bright yellow sun she longed to see one more time. She dripped the poison from her fangs into the deepest of the cracks left by the cold and they did not grow. Instead, they blackened and the stone that surrounded them decayed. They would continue to crumble regardless of whether she added more poison or not, and when it reached the heart which supported his life, he would grow old and weak.

But for the two of them, journeying to the peak of the mountain where the sun still shone even in the bitter winter times, that didn't matter. It didn't matter that, with every step or beat of wings, they were moving further and further away from others of their kind, from the safety that had so dearly hoped to see them through that winter time. But if they did survive this winter, there would be another, then another… The winters would not end, and if they weren't killed by something else, the cold would eventually kill them.

Stopping for too long would kill them now. She stopped the larvitar when he began to slow, bid him to rest. 'I can still walk,' the young one protested.

'You don't want to collapse afterwards,' the zubat explained. 'The less you need to rest in between, the easier it will be to keep moving.'

Larvitar looked at her; she was acting like his mother now – but she was also the one with more experience. He obeyed, curling into the gap between two stone slabs and closing his eyes. The zubat waited until she heard his breathing even out, then flew back.

She'd felt a change in the humidity of the air for a moment, a little while back. She retraced her steps until she felt the damp chill again, then followed it. There was no water here; she was sure of it. So the chill could only be coming from an aquatic or ice type pokemon: one who had lost their way. As close as they were to the entrance – when compared to the inner realms in any case – she guessed it was the latter. If they were lucky, it would be one with a flesh body, that her gust and poison could break through and the warmth within the larvitar's hide, under those poor cracking rocks, could make palpable.

In the winter times and without a fire attack at their disposal, it was the only way they could eat something not coated in ice. It was another benefit the larvitar had: as a storage place far better than the unloving rocks of their humble abode. Otherwise the zubat would be eating bits of ice along with the meat, and as small as they were, those bits of ice getting to their hearts would kill them quick.

It was a shame the space between hide and skin was so narrow that only the baby zubat could fit into the largest of the larvitar. A few of them sometimes had pouches, but only the mothers who had recently given birth. With births so rare, there had only been this larvitar's mother the last winter, and none for this one. But now none of that mattered. It was only one larvitar and one zubat and the sloping cave walls around them.

The zubat hoped the larvitar wouldn't awaken before she returned – though, if he did, she would be able to hear his lumbering steps in the silent echoes. She hoped that meant she would also be able to hear the sound of anything approaching them. She didn't expect anyone now; the tunnels they were currently in were meant for travelling and nothing else. They were still in larvitar territory, even if in the winter those caves were empty. In the spring, they became the breeding caves: the caves closer to water and further from the predators that lurked outside.

Some of the tunnels led to water holes. Not those of the golduck or poliwhirls – not those violent beasts. There were magikarp everywhere, like an infestation but the zubat didn't have fangs strong enough to tear through those hides. The larvitar could, and in the more active seasons they would take out the softest, innermost part for their zubat friends. But in the winter they could do nothing save wait to be fed. It was not a sustainable system, the one she and her larvitar companion had set up. They would last a week, maybe two, but no more.

And it wasn't as though the magikarp were unprotected. There were a few gyarados there; in fact, they were the ones who were furthest along the evolutionary path because they went the winter undisturbed. And the gyarados were powerful, vicious beasts. This early in the winter, there mightn't be any at all. But they would grow. And a gyarados' strong jaws would crush her in a breath, whether she heard its approach or not.

Thankfully, they seemed to die out by the time summer came: breeding hundreds of baby magikarp and then collapsing in on its long thin scales. She'd heard of some pokemon that collected those scales, but she'd never seen them with her own eyes. And it seemed like a silly, inconsequential thing. The scales weren't edible, and a weapon was a liability when they had their attacks on hand. In this world of survival, they were only useless things.

She followed the cold onwards until it bit at her wings and her wing beats faltered. But she pressed on, because she could hear the sound of dying breaths ahead: food she could take back with her. And she found it finally: a sneasel who'd come too far out of the more humid areas of the maze and fallen and dried out. Even if they weren't aquatic by nature, cold alone wasn't enough to sustain their ice bodies when there was no moisture to support it.

The sneasel raised its head a little when the zubat got too near, and raised a claw. The zubat immediately spun in the air, avoiding the aim. Though the sneasel didn't look like it could pick itself of the ground to attack physically, the zubat wasn't fool enough to risk being hit by a distance attack. Instead, it circled when the claw clumsily followed her flight patter, and beat her wings faster. When the time looked right, she let loose a powerful but controlled air cutter, letting it slam into the lithe body with shearing force.

The raised claw came off, and that was fine. It wasn't edible anyway. Some of the icy exterior that would do them no good came off as well, giving way to the meatier black belly underneath. She relaxed her wings, paining now because of the force she'd demanded from them – but she still needed their help. Once she was back with her companion she could rest.

Next time, she decided, she'd be sure to have him wait closer – but it didn't matter if she slowed down, so long as he didn't and could carry her.

She took a deep breath, and pumped her wings again for a carrying gust to take her prey back. Silence followed her save the wind, and she wondered if anyone would be coming for them afterwards. They were still in dry parts though. The sneasel wouldn't get too far. For this leg of their journey, they were perfectly safe. There was little life except for them, and the food they'd brought with them would last. What they could gain from lost wanderers would boost those supplies for the next leg.

And that leg would be the more dangerous one, when they walked into the moister, more heavily inhabited regions of the mountain.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sedimentation  
Chapter 6**

They hadn't been fortunate enough to come across another dying source of meat on their way, and by the time the chill became a permanent thing, they were running low on supplies.

The larvitar was more in pain now as well, since there was only air now between stone. But the poison was doing its work well. He could still love, and the days of constant motion were making it easier. The cracks were barely lengthening – but that came with a price the zubat was in a better position to see. The stone was slowly dying away. They would not repair themselves when the cold left.

Nor would her wings. They'd tired of the cold, and the warmth under the larvitar's stone hide wasn't enough to fully revive them now. She could feel them beat a little more frailly – but she'd known that would happen. Age was speedily catching up to her after all.

The larvitar had slept two more times. The first she'd suggested again and received less of a protest in return. By the second it seemed the larvitar had learnt how much his body could take before the amount of rest required afterwards would be more. It was a system he had to quickly learn and adapt to: the maximal distance with minimal rest so they could get as far as they could before exhaustion or the cold stole their hope away.

And then they entered into the moister, colder parts. The chill in the air became constant and the zubat stopped flying ahead. She would have to depend entirely on the larvitar here, she knew. She could fly for a little through the moist air before her wingtips froze, but if she allowed them that she wouldn't be able to fly in the places that followed. And those places she would need to fly even more, when the walls were coated with gleaming ice and a straight fall and the only way up was to fly. And she planned to fly towards the sun when she caught sight of it. For those things, she could not sacrifice her wings quite yet. She still had need of them.

And the poison that had spread through the stone of larvitar's hide served as a sort of defence for him. Because stone wasn't flesh, it could take more poison and more death, and more death meant less pain. It didn't hinder the movement of flesh underneath. It didn't hinder the heart. Not until the poison passed through the thickness of stone without dying itself from the inner heat and into that flesh and heart. Then it would be a hindrance. Then it would be a killer. Because their stomachs might have adapted to the poison in the meat, but raw poison and blood were a different matter entirely. There was no adapting to that unless they made poison of their own. And the larvitar were pokemon of rock. Their hides had evolved to keep such poison out of them – and the winter had evolved, perhaps, to give it a gateway in.

But for now the larvitar could still move, could still feel the dullness of pain that poison gave to him. And she could tuck her wings into the gap beneath the hide and hang on to his shoulder blades with her small claws and travel with. Her ears were strained. His eyes were strained. They watched and listened carefully for any predator that might happen upon them.

A few delibird had attacked them almost as soon as the fog settled in, but the larvitar had fired a few rocks to knock them down. They'd fallen heavily, heavier than the stones shot at them, their bones breaking on the ice-covered rocks below. But the delibird did not have much meat on them, so they were poor prey. It was only because their beaks were strong and a nuisance when close did they need to be shot down from the air.

They tried to salvage the meat anyway. Enough for the zubat perhaps, but not for the larvitar. Not for long in any case, but for now it was holding them both. But the delibird were many in number. It only wasn't worth their time to strip each and every one of them.

'Can we learn any fire type attacks?' the larvitar wondered aloud. 'They would be far more useful than throwing rocks.'

'I don't know,' the zubat replied. 'Perhaps. I do not know how.'

'Can I learn any other attacks?' He looked at his claws. They could scratch the walls but do no more. And his rocks were good against the birds, but useless should any aquatic beasts blast a torrent of water at them.

The zubat had no defence against that either. Confuse ray was the best, but also the least damaging. It was more a support attack than a striking one, but rock based attacks weren't the best against water opponents. This larvitar knew scratch, bite and rock slide, the last of which was still developing and could only control a few rocks at a time. Another distance attack, one that wasn't of the rock variety, would be good for both of them. But learning attacks wasn't fast or easy, and distance attacks were even harder to learn.

Truthfully, the older larvitar would have been in a better position to teach attacks. Some simply came with time, and this larvitar was young. But the zubat had watched them learn many attacks. Maybe she could teach this one.

'You're not old enough for hyper beam,' she sighed. 'But maybe we can try hidden power.'

'Really?' his face lit up, and suddenly he didn't look hungry and weary anymore. They'd been rationing now that there were only delibird to fill their tummies with. It was harder for the larvitar who'd always eaten more than the far smaller zubat. And the zubat didn't have much of an appetite anymore. No-one did when they were old and frail and approaching death.

'You'll tire more quickly though,' the zubat said. 'You might not make it to the top.'

The larvitar contemplated that. 'Did the other larvitar know more attacks than me?'

The other larvitar had known hidden power, the zubat remembered. And stone edge as well: an attack far less energy consuming and more accurate than rock slide – but this larvitar wasn't old enough for that yet either. Another year, maybe two – but the cold had gotten far more merciless since then. This larvitar should have had a good few years before thinking about his death. All the larvitar should have had a few weeks yet before rendered immobile for the winter. And they, the zubat, shouldn't have lost some of their own to the snow already. But that was how it was this year, and previous years. That was how the changing times had led them. To shorter, less meaningful lives.

And when all the young were gone and the old had withered away, who would create the future?

'He did,' was all the zubat said aloud on the matter. 'Alright. I'll try and explain hidden power. But what it does will depend entirely on you.'

Fire would save them against the ice, but not against the terrain of water they were slowly crawling deeper within. They had only come across the delibird now, but that would soon change. They would soon meet more dangerous enemies. But there was no one attack that would take care of everything.

The other larvitar had taken a fire type hidden power. It had been a symbol of the fire of adventure in his heart. And he had died with that same fire: he'd been able to melt away the cold around him, but not the hunger that had eventually claimed him.

But this larvitar was of a different breed, a different time. 'Hidden power can do anything when it's unformed,' she explained. 'But once you make it your attack, it will be frozen in that type for eternity.'

'So I can only have one type.' The larvitar frowned thoughtfully. 'We will come across water soon. Will it be frozen over or do you think it might still flow?' He shuddered at the thought of flowing water, but if it was there, they would have to cross it.

'Flow, probably.' The zubat strained her ears. She thought she could hear the water moving in the depths of the mountain now, or maybe it was her own imagination. It had flowed the last time she was there…but the winter had had a smaller reach back then.

'And food..?'

That she knew. It had been bad years ago, when the winter hadn't spread its waste. It would be worse now.

The larvitar thought a moment longer, slowing and then halting completely. 'Grass, I think,' he said, sounding a little tired. 'But I think I need to rest now.'

It would have to be a short, unfulfilling rest, otherwise the moisture would collect in the cracks in his hide and freeze, leaving him an ice sculpture like the rocks that marked their chosen path.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sedimentation  
Chapter 7**

The larvitar held his breath and summoned up what power within him he could manage, then let it loose. He imagined the brightest, greenest and fullest leaves he could. He only felt a little fuller in the end as a result.

But it still helped, because they were down to their last scraps of food now and fighting for what was left. The delibird were less now. The fog was thicker. They were starting to come into the territories of other ice pokemon – and they were less friendly than the delibird from before.

They stuck to the tunnels that were supposed to be neutral territory – but neutral was a laughable word in their times. The caves and water holes opened up into the tunnels after all, and those entrances belonged to the ones who slumbered within. The zubat had had a wing encased in ice by a spheal before larvitar managed to land a rock on its tail, dragging the spheal back into its watering hole. They'd missed a chance at that flesh – but maybe it was a good thing they'd had. They could see the glowing eyes in the dark, watching. If they'd killed one spheal, the others would have spilt out of the watering hole and attacked them.

They'd learnt to approach attacking with caution thereafter. If it was something that didn't live in those parts it was fine. But those were rare and far between. They had managed to find a crobat and a strange purple blob who had sneasel claws but had far more appetising meat, but that was all.

Their food was running low, and though the larvitar gently scratched away at the zubat's wing, she wouldn't be able to use most of her attacks for a while.

'I can still fly after this,' she said stubbornly. And it was true. Their wings had been frozen before. They knew the exercises they needed to do to make sure that wing would still be usuable afterwards, when the ice came off. But there was a limit to that, and that was why the larvitar scratched away at her wing, peeling a little more ice away each time. If he were older and his claws more developed, he would be able to scratch off more, and faster. But he couldn't, and there were delayed a little more as a result.

But training was hard work as well, and the larvitar was thankful for the feeling of satiety he managed to muster up. He hadn't known that would result from his choice, but he was glad it had. He may have already starved otherwise. And if he could master that technique he could feed his zubat friend before what remained of their food ran out as well.

She said nothing when he mention that, just bid him to keep on training. Aside from her surety that she would fly again, she had fallen rather silent as of late. Their progress had slowed as well. Because the larvitar could not rest for very long for fear of the moisture settling into his stone, they had to stop more frequently. And because of his training he had to stop as well. He could feel the power now, more than just the satiety – but it still wasn't enough. They had not reached the lake in the mountain yet, but when they did they would need to fight to cross it. It wouldn't be like the scrimmages at the water holes: stray attacks that were designed to drive opponents away. It would be an all out feud they would have to get past.

But it didn't need to be a powerful attack. So long as they could slip past the drama that would unfold, it would be fine.

But he still needed to master that attack. He needed something that wasn't rock slide, that wouldn't sink the boat they'd use to get across. The zubat had mentioned it before: their plan. The attack of rocks that was every larvitar's trademark. They'd use that as a raft and the zubat's tailwind and get across.

But before that, they had a ways to go. The larvitar closed his eyes and held his breath and summoned the power within him again. _Come on,_ he begged. _Work._

Something crashed around him and he opened his eyes to see the glowing green orbs. The zubat who'd been sleeping opened her eyes as well. 'You did it,' she said, her voice filled with wonder.

The larvitar wondered if she'd doubted him…though it didn't matter if she had. He'd doubted himself after all. He was young, and inexperienced, and clumsy and slow. But he'd wanted to try anyway. He'd wanted to reach that place the zubat was trying to reach.

He didn't know why. He didn't know why he was trying so hard when he was going to die soon anyway. But it felt good, somehow. Walking, day by day, and fighting on. Even that hollow feeling in his stomach, before he'd mastered enough of his hidden power to fill it up. He felt like he was growing up, in a way that spending his time in the cave, stiff and asleep, would not.

The decay of his body was no longer a secret to him now. It had gotten to the point where the black had spread over his stomach and his claws, and he could see it. But he didn't mind. He'd imagined his body like that anyway, just in white. That was what would have happened to him in the cave, when the winter stepped further in. Not this year, perhaps. But maybe the next one, or a few winters from now. The snow and cold would reach their caves as well, and that would be the end of tem. The giant snakes of rock that had once lived…that was how they'd met their end. Those ones that had made the tunnels now used by everyone.

And now the larvitar had a new attack as well. An attack that would help both of them. 'I did do it,' he said happily, catching one of the green orbs and sucking it dry. He squealed the moment the cold reached his tongue – but it was nothing like the cold of ice. Rather, it was the cold of fresh water in the summer time, mixed in with the tang of crisp spring leaves.

He caught another and gave it to the zubat. She took it carefully, one foot still hanging on to him and one wing still frozen, and sucked more slowly. She made a noise of contentment as well, sucking as quickly as she dared. It was nothing like the frozen meat they'd been forced to tolerate. Nothing like the sparse fruits even that grew on the outside – and even though she'd tasted it before, from other larvitar, it was something beyond her expectations every time.

The larvitar caught all six of those spheres and the two of them devoured them before moving on, with a new vigour. The rocks were still enough to combat the spheal, but when they stumbled upon the golduck and poliwrath quarrelling over a broken wall that united their territories the new hidden power he had mastered was a godsend. They had to use the rock to swim across early as the tunnel had also collapsed, but that was fine. It worked in their favour actually, because the holes in the back walls led them into the main cavern beyond, and the water beasts there were too agitated by the conflict on the other side to notice the larvitar and zubat sail past on the gust.

But it was still a rough journey, even without the opposition from other pokemon. The water struck at them mercilessly, and the zubat's gust was growing weaker along with her body. She couldn't maintain a straight course and every time they came close to a fish staring quietly behind them the larvitar would hold his breath and hope they wouldn't crash. They were being ignored now, but he doubted they would ignore a perceived attack from them.

But, luckily, they didn't crash. They made it to the other side and the zubat collapsed, her energy spent. It was a long way. Longer than the outside world to the little home of the larvitar when she carried meat. And she was getting too old for such trips now.

But there was still a ways to go. Smaller trips, from one foothold to the next, until they reached the top. And they wouldn't be seeing any opposition now. Not from the pokemon. Not from the cold. At the very centre of the mountain was sloping ice that had no breaks, but there was also an orange heat that cast the ice aglow. The source of all the light in the mountain, even though no pokemon nor legend could tell of the origins of that fire, nor why the ice was so perfect in its midst.


	8. Chapter 8

**Sedimentation  
Chapter 8**

The zubat watched her companion pace in the clearing. The perimeter was covered in ice and the inner core sloped away, straight down into an abyss of yellow. The larvitar was small enough to safely walk it, but it was still unnerving to watch. But it couldn't be helped. It wasn't as cold as the moist ice haven they'd left behind, but they'd still freeze if they stopped moving for too long. And she was slow to recover. Even with the green orbs the larvitar produced for her. Even the water he managed to steal from the cavern they'd passed through – however he was carrying it back.

He turned and came back towards her – and then she saw how. Part of his stone hide had fallen away completely, leaving gaps. And the black had pierced through that gap, spreading like spider veins on his flesh. He walked hunched, trying to shield that part. Maybe because the cold was crueller to it than the hide. Maybe because her poison was not so effective on innervated flesh. Maybe because now it was just a matter of counting off the days.

She wondered if he understood that, or if he mistook it for moulting: the process where a pokemon with a stone hide like the larvitar shed their childhood skin and grew a new, adult one in its place. For survival reasons, such a process never happened in the winter months. The stone might crack and bring pain, but the vulnerable flesh that hid under that hide was even worse under the jaws of the cold.

As soon as she could summon a gust strong enough to carry him, they would be on their way again. The time was now on her shoulders; the larvitar had gotten them this far, not her. They had drifted so far off course it was a miracle they hadn't been turned around, they hadn't crashed into something else. It was a miracle they hadn't starved to death already – a miracle the larvitar had been able to master the one attack that would save them – and he had chosen that path himself, not knowing what would come out of it. She had not suggested it, because warmth was an important thing as well. In the end, it came down to which of the two the larvitar thought was more important – because she couldn't make that decision for him.

If her wing hadn't frozen, she could have done a better job directing the rock they'd used as a boat. If there was none of that dew from the hidden power now, she mightn't have been able to recover. But she was recovering. Recovering as the larvitar's hide crumbled under the weight of her poison and the effort he put his own body through, to keep himself from becoming immobile again.

Or she could have abandoned his starving, dying form and flown on to her destination and then waited for the spring to settle in before taking the easier journey back.

'I can carry you now,' she said, launching herself into the air.

The larvitar ceased his restless pacing and looked at her. 'Are you sure?' he asked, his voice more like gravel now than ever.

The zubat nodded. 'Come,' she said.

The larvitar looked at himself. 'My armour is crumbling.'

The zubat said nothing.

'Do I need it anymore?'

'No.' The black spreading under his flesh attested to that.

'I'll take it off then.' He stretched out his claws and scratched at the hide. The zubat winced at the sound, then again as pieces of stone fell off. And then the larvitar was before her, naked like the day he had hatched from his egg. No stone of protection: just brown flesh marked with the black of her poison through his veins. The rest of him was left on the floor, to be blown into the depths of the mountains when they took flight.

She stared at him a moment, then dug her claws deep into his shoulder and flapped her wings hard. He let out a choked sound of pain but she ignored it. She had made her decision; she would carry him with her, to the sung she longed to see. She would not lose him, not see him fall into the abyss after bringing her so far.

Her gust was just strong enough. They made many stops along the way, holding on to those little rocks that jotted out from the smooth surface. But they made it, eventually, and the zubat tumbled into the soft white snow.

She almost thought she hadn't, but she felt larvitar's claws around her, picking her up. 'Is this snow?' he asked in wonder. 'It's pretty.'

'It's cold.' Her teeth chattered. 'We need to climb those stairs.'

She didn't point; her body was shivering already in the snow. But there were only one set of stairs and the larvitar climbed them slowly. He didn't seem to feel the cold. His body didn't shake like hers did, and there was no hesitation in his footsteps. Had the poison spread so far, she wondered?

It didn't matter. They were almost there.

And then suddenly they were there, wrapped in a yellow light that bounced off the snow they stood upon and the surface of frozen water. The zubat tried to stretch her wings and fly, but she tumbled in the air and fell onto the larvitar again. She couldn't fly, not until she rested some more. He could still walk, but walking would not take them any closer to the sun above them.

All he could do was tilt his head up and look at the smiling yellow face towards him. 'Is that how the sun looks in winter?' he said, his voice clouded in wonder. 'It seems so much more…dull.'

That was true. In the summer it was a bitter, burning thing. But in the winter it was pale, welcome and beautiful. The snow and ice covered the rest of the beauty: those sparse plants that had grown the last time they were there: the spring paradise while the rest of the world was flung under the snow of winter.

The lake hadn't been frozen over the last time she had been there either. It had been water then. Pure fresh water the likes of which she had never tasted before, and reflecting pools of darkness and secrets beneath. She'd never gone deeper; she was a flyer after all. She couldn't swim. But something had told her a swimmer would find little caves and places of save haven in there.

Not anymore. The lake was frozen over, and she could see the shadows of pokemon beneath it. Drowned when the surface locked them in. Dead.

The larvitar wasn't looking at those things, but at the sun. The black had covered almost all of him, she saw. It hadn't looked like that until the sun exposed them both. It would take hours, maybe minutes, maybe a day – and then the poison would touch his heart and that would be the end of him.

She looked down. That wasn't the end she wished to watch. And her own strength was weak. Her grip slack – and the cold was biting again. Now she was the one immobilised by cold and pain, unable to find relief. And there would be no relief except death. It didn't look like she would get another chance to fly, high enough to touch that sun. But that was okay. She could lie in the snow and ice and watch it until she died, and that would be enough. And if she didn't look, she would have company all that while as well.

And they wouldn't look at the death that drifted under them, from the winter that had reached so high and destroyed even the ones who'd thought they'd been safe, in the sun.

'What is that?'

She looked after all. The larvitar's insatiable curiosity, even though he was lying on his side now, looking at both the sky and the frozen lake. 'I have never seen a pokemon that shape.'

Nor had she. It looked like the body had been preserved in ice for some reason, not just frozen over like the rest of the lake. It drifted under the water: things she couldn't describe, and a few she could. Hair that was brown. Eyes that were closed. Hands that were covered in something, made without claws. Something that wasn't a hide or skin covering the body. Something red and blue and black. Something that looked like a sphere, half red and half white, with the frozen form.

'I don't know,' the zubat said, finally turning away. 'Let's not look; see, the sun is smiling at us.'

The larvitar rolled so his back was against the ice and he could see the sun as well: that yellow orb that would steal away his final breaths.

Legends had long since died by that time. So had humankind. So it was that neither of them, nor any other living soul on the planet, had heard the legend of a boy who'd once lived in the mountains with his pokemon friends: with a beast who kept the lake water pure, healing and like a spring of eternal youth. And another who flew higher than any other pokemon in the world and brought the sun as close as he could manage, so the rest of the world might have a little peek when winter spread its wasteland. And a heart of fire that burned deep within the mountain, providing a little warmth and life, so that the mountain could revive itself in the spring. A cycle of three – no, four, because that human's role could not be forgotten as well: the will to keep this world alive, keep spring and a future still in reach.

But winter had bested him, and without his undying will to support them, the other three had fallen as well. The bird could bring the sun a little less close each year, until it wasn't enough to drive away the snow, to keep a future still there. The beast of the water could no longer keep that water alive, flowing with life, and the pokemon that had sheltered there had died. And the heart of the mountain weakened as well, so the ice spread further and further until it stole away all hope.

And as two more bodies sunk into the snow, the sun fell back, that bird that had once commanded it unable to keep it close. It might be enough, for the world to see another spring. It might not. It might last another winter after that. It might not. There was no will driving it now, just three pokemon who wanted to fulfil the last wishes of their master and dearest friend: a friend the world had long since forgotten about.

They would not forget, all that time they'd spent with their dear friend. But that wouldn't keep the world alive. That wouldn't keep them alive either, now that there was no will, not even the will to keep on striving towards something, not even life, remained.


End file.
